


bullshit requiem

by ninata



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Closure(?), Full Game Spoilers, It's symbolic!, M/M, Posthumous character study, weird afterlife shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 07:29:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14588052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: Kokichi Ouma, who has been dead for either a few minutes or several centuries, faces what must be the Grim Reaper. And he smiles. (warnings in beginning notes)





	bullshit requiem

**Author's Note:**

> warnings:  
> lots of references to suicide, a couple to abortion/miscarriage, many references of child abuse, some implicit mentions of starvation as a means of abuse/malnourishment/food issues, some violent imagery involving some clever and symbolic (read: blunt and hamhanded) use of truth bullets, like one or two sort of meta jokes  
> i feel like this doesn't make much sense but you're gonna take it anyway.

The same sentiment on repeat. Over and over, the intercom from his brain to his body lets him know he wanted this. That he slaved for it, that he wore himself even thinner than he was, even thinner than his starved, fragile body, just for the chance to burn and fizzle out where everyone could see him.

Kokichi Ouma is a prisoner in himself. That much is clear. His bones that poke and prod, his skull, a cage. He's the cage. Maybe it didn't matter what his parents did to him, maybe it didn't matter if D.I.C.E. existed, maybe it didn't matter if Team Danganronpa wrote his fatal flaw with glee, or if every flaw of his was fatal, or if his existence was nothing more than something to cry over for a night and to capture in rubber keychains and sell to fans who didn't understand. Maybe _he's_ the problem. That would explain a lot.

What renders a person irredeemable? At what point is a person beyond saving?

It's one thing to be an outsider. To be shunned, looked down upon, only abused by adults. It's another to become what you always wanted and be violently hated, hit and pushed around and sneered at, pushed away. It was the last thing he wanted. Probably why it happened. Dramatic irony and all.

So, was that it? Was it just natural? The whole, _Ha! You really thought you could ever be happy?_ thing. Is he just supposed to accept this ending?

...Well, he can’t do anything else with it. That’s kind of the point.

He’s alone. And he’ll always be alone. Saihara said that to him. He pretended it didn't sting like he'd been hit.

He tried too hard, after all. Clawing for something, anything. Nobody likes being clawed. He got too involved and struggled with all the strength of an ant against an unfathomable enemy. He fell for too many tricks and made an enemy out of everyone. The writing was too thorough. He’d been set up from the beginning to fail.

In that, he was unsalvageable. Doomed.

 _How annoying,_ he thinks, short nails scraping aimlessly at illusions of pain, of arrows stuck in his arm. _I hate playing games I can’t win._

But that, of course, is a comical understatement. Shrouds the truth. The misery. Of course he wants to cry. But he can’t. That well dried up ages ago.

What would’ve happened if everyone had been kinder to him? He’s not sure. Living to the end would’ve broken his spirit. Maybe death was merciful. Even if he had gotten along with the others, dodged death and made friends, would that have been satisfying? Of course not. He was a performer. Court jester. Scheming, conniving bastard, annoying failed abortion, a baby whose mother so _desperately_ wanted him to miscarry. This was the only story he could have, right?

 _Trying to justify it leaves a bad taste in my mouth._ As if he could taste. He’s missing food, now, but nothing he can conjure up could fix that.

At what point do you stop seeing a person as a person? At what point do you stop seeing an individual in favor of seeing what you want to see? Make them become what you need them to be? An enemy? Something to unite against. That's what he was. A placeholder. He made Shirogane's job easy.

It was all so fucking perfect. Shirogane was a talented writer.

Kokichi swirls. Stills. He feels ill.

He can’t even stay here forever. This “afterlife” or whatever— no one can stay forever. Eventually they return to nothing.

He knows that. So when the shadows bunch together, piling one on another til pinstripes run up their length, a cowlick bobbing into form, Kokichi smiles.

“Aha.” He says. “Saihara-chan, it’s been a while.”

“I just took the form you wanted to see.” It says bluntly. Kokichi holds his smile. “You understand I’m here to end you, right?”

“End me? Ooooh. Scary.”

“You’ll be blotted from existence. Nobody lingers for long.” A pause. “You won’t be recycled or anything. Just gone.”

“Oh, I know! I’ve known since I got here.”

“I can’t bend any rules for you.”

“Mmm, I figured.”

Another pause.

“How funny. It was understood you were capricious, but I suppose giving up is easy for you, too. You were always looking to die quickly, after all.”

Kokichi’s smile falters.

“You remember now, don’t you? Joining Danganronpa. Your pathetic, lackluster life. Friendless, unloved by everyone. An outlet for your own parents’ desires and frustrations. Hardly even an individual.”

Kokichi swallows. “Stop it.”

“Why?” Saihara says, tilting his head. “It’s what you want to hear.”

“No, I...I don’t! I don’t want to…”

“There was never any hope for you. It was unfortunate. You didn’t make any efforts to save yourself, either, but that’s probably because they broke you so early. Even that Shirogane woman couldn’t give you a better life. Even with her nice story, you knew, didn’t you? That you couldn’t possibly have a place to return to. People who loved you.

...Oh, don’t look so troubled. It’s over, now. Be happy with that.”

“Was it...really fair?” He forces out.

“Hm?”

“W-Was it...fair my parents used me? Was it fair no one loved me? I worked...so hard, I…”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t anyone feel bad? A-About what they were doing...Hey, you know, don’t you?”

“I only know of you.”

“I was...finally funny! I f-finally had…a reason to…”

 _To be loved._ Saihara looks down on him with pity.

“I have to kill you now.” He says hesitantly.

“I...I get it! I get it, just…”

Is he hysterical? He knows this isn’t Saihara. He knows, but...

“Please, tell me I’m okay.” Kokichi rasps, his hand clutching at his chest. “J-Just tell me it was sad. Say you regret hating me. Say...say something. Anything to make me…make me feel like it wasn’t for _nothing.”_

Saihara stares blankly back.

“Couldn’t you have trusted me? Wasn’t I right? W-Wasn’t I trying to save who I could? Hey, Saihara-chan, tell me.”

Saihara raises his hand, fingers closed in a fist save his index and thumb— like a hand pistol, he fires. A bang. A searing, horrible pain, and Kokichi cries out, feeling like he could come apart.

“H-Hey, don’t be mad at me. Saihara-chan, y-you were, you were the last person I wanted to hate me…” Yet his tone is so level, still coherent. The performance never ends. Not even when the actor lies dead on the stage.

“Is that a lie?”

“No! No, it’s the tru—“

Another bang. Kokichi’s arm flops onto the floor, purple oozing out. Truth bullets are like silver to a liar like him.

“Saihara-chan, please. I-I wanted to live. I wanted to want to live. You could’ve— ah— joined me…! We could’ve stopped the killing game sooner!”

Bang.

“P-Please...was I so wrong? I just wanted to h-help. I didn’t...I didn’t _want_ to lie! They made me lie! Please, please believe me!”

Bang.

“I-It hurts...It hurts…!” Tears are hot on his cheeks, fogging up his vision. “I didn’t even d- _do_ anything! Gonta w-wanted to help me! I didn’t make h-h-him! Why did you all hate me so much?! Y-You just W-WANTED an enemy! It didn’t m-matter who it was! You’re selfish! You’re—“

Bang.

Racking, horrible sobs. He’s a marionette with severed strings, a doll with its limbs blasted off, thick goop pouring out of him, reflections of eyes blinking in the murky shine, lies, all of it lies, perjuries and fabrications and he thinks, _wow, is that what was in me all along?_

“I liked you…” Kokichi hisses, because even now, he can’t shake it. Golden eyes, starry night skies, how fitting it was Clair de Lune. Saihara was everything he wanted. “I _liked_ you.” He says it again, a little louder. A capable detective who just needed a nudge. They would’ve been great rivals. Maybe if things were different. Maybe if they had met before, when he needed someone. Maybe if Kokichi wasn’t himself, or what he was before, or anything. Maybe if he was nothing. “I l-liked you...m-more than Akamatsu-chan did.” Bang. “More than Momota-chan did.” Bang. There isn’t much left of him anymore. “More than...anyone. I wanted you...t-to smile at me, and make shocked faces…” Saihara steps forward. His face is changing like the tide, like waves. It’s unreadable. Shifting. “I wanted to...to frustrate you. I wanted to keep you guessing...and maybe...Maybe one day, a-after proving how interesting I was...maybe you would’ve fallen for me too.”

Saihara kneels in front of him. He’s just shoulders and a head in a sea of muck. Lying in it. Always lying. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.

“Hey, Saihara-chan…

It’s too late for me, isn’t it? Even when the game started...it was already too late, actually.

It was the best way it could’ve gone…

…

Hey, will you remember me?”

Something clouds his vision and gently brushes his bangs out of his face. A hand. He wishes he could grab on, but he’s lucky such a desperate move’s impossible for him.

“...I will. I’ll remember everyone.” That voice, so delicate. Flighty, feathery. He’s so far away. It hurts.

“But me. This...this me that existed. Even when...m-my parents forget...even when fangirls forget...and the Team Danganronpa executives, and Harukawa-chan, and Yumeno-chan…

Even when nothing remains of me anymore…

Will you remember me, Saihara-chan?”

Saihara pauses. Nods.

“...I never understood you.” Saihara says softly. “I’ll regret that for the rest of my life.

...Is that...what you wanted to hear?”

Kokichi smiles.

“...Aaaah, man. My last act, and you can’t even stay in character to the end.”

“I’m sorry. I hope this brings you peace.”

“It’s good enough. I know you don’t really feel bad for me, buuut…

I wonder if he will. I wonder if...anyone will.”

“Probably not…” Saihara says. Kokichi laughs.

“...Mmm. I’m glad it was you, Saihara-chan.” He rests his cheek against that hand. “I-If you’re the one to kill me...maybe it’s okay.”

The pad of a finger presses against his temple. He shuts his eyes.

Even if everything was a lie in the end, and he died for a lie. Even if his existence was nothing, and no one would ever think of him ever again. If he suffered for nothing. If the whole world looked away.

It was fun, right?

…

Ha. That's a laugh. He can’t even lie ‘til the end, huh?

He wishes his parents would've loved him. He wishes his brother didn't leave. He wishes he didn't have to go to a college prep school, cram school, stay up all night studying.

He wishes he could've eaten nice food. He wishes he had friends to go out with, or spend birthdays with. He wishes he could've been laughed with, had his head patted. He wishes he could've worn flashier clothes, pierced his ears. Gotten to paint his nails without getting the shit beaten out of him. 

He wishes he could've been a little funnier. Shone a little brighter. Made more people smile.

He wishes he could've smiled, and meant it.

He wishes he died when he was a little kid. Better yet, he wishes he had never been born. He wishes his parents had never met.

It just wasn't worth it. Living.

What a waste.

There’s a final bang, and a splatter, and then it’s all wiped clean.

**Author's Note:**

> wow! two fics in one day?! well i was working on them completely separately. finishing finals, working on an oumazine (!!!) and watching fate media. surprisingly enough some bits of fate made me mad emotional about ouma...  
> imagine a grail war where ouma summons sherlock as his servant, and saihara summons moriarty. Hilarious!  
> uhhh.  
> yeah. i hope this had some emotional power to it. i can't look at my writing and be like "Yeah this is sad" so! you be the judge. i've been writing the same "ouma and saihara are cuddling and fucking or whatever and get a little depressed" fic for the past 8 months so this is a change of pace...i'm worried it's a little too abstract, but. (looks at that one ishimaru fic i wrote) Whatever. there's also like a lot of headcanon in here but you can fight me.  
> enjoy.


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